


so he won't fly away

by tryslora



Category: Welcome to PHU Series - Tris Lawrence
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anchors, Anxiety, Biting, Canon Compliant, Full Shift Shapeshifters, Held Down, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Political Alliances, Politics, Semi-Public Bathing, Shapeshifting, Wrists, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Alaric’s first Clan Conclave as heir is complicated. Alaric has to navigate the path of Clan politics, and find others who might think like himself. Chris might be the only human in attendance, but he’s also the only one who can anchor Alaric in the midst of his anxiety.





	so he won't fly away

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-compliant story within the universe of [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).
> 
> At the end of _Commit to the Kick_ , Alaric's father Theobald says that he is calling a Conclave to discuss what's happened, and to reach a decision to go to war, Clan against Mage. Alaric says that he won't go unless his vote counts. There is enough discussion over the holiday that Alaric changes his mind and decides to attend the Conclave, and this is the story of the start of that big meeting.
> 
> This was going to be a short story about how Chris helps Alaric find the anchoring comfort of solid wristbands to help keep him moored through the anxiety of politics. It ended up being that and that story of how Alaric forms his first alliance outside of his own Clan. With respect to the _Twinned_ trilogy, this takes place between the end of _Commit to the Kick_ and before the start of _Missed Fortunes_.

Alaric waits at the end of the drive for Chris to arrive. He lies down, head resting on crossed paws. He could be more subtle, wait in the trees as the eagle, but he wants to make a point. The hound will never be a match for his father’s wolf, but this isn’t about a fight.

It’s about staking claim and making a statement that Chris may be human, but he’s Alaric’s human, and he’ll be visiting whether Theobald wants him to or not.

He stands when he hears Chris’s car approach, tail wagging. When Chris turns the corner and slows to a stop, Alaric puts both feet on the door, whines. Chris pulls the emergency brake, the sound creaking loud, then throws the car in park. He comes around to the passenger side, opens the door for Alaric and closes it once Alaric’s inside.

“You know, you could have shifted back and used your own two hands to open the door,” Chris says as he buckles his belt to stop the car from beeping at him.

Alaric whuffs. No, he can’t, not if he wants to continue to make his point.

“Did you tell your dad I’m coming?” Chris asks. Alaric whuffs once, and Chris nods, glances at him only briefly before shifting his attention to the dirt road and the trees lining it. “There are four cats in that tree,” Chris muses. “You want to tell me how many of them are cats and how many are Clan? No?” His hand drops to the shift, then he reaches across, scritches Alaric behind the ears. “Okay, so he knows I’m coming. Did you mention that I’m staying a few days, until you’re ready to head back to PHU?”

Alaric whines, lowers his head to the seat. He’s too big to curl up, but he still manages to cover his nose with his paws.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The air goes sour with apprehension, and Alaric whines because he caused that. He noses at Chris’s hand, licks it in apology.

“He hasn’t killed me yet,” Chris points out. “I’m sure this won’t be any different.”

The last time Chris was here, it was only Theobald’s Clan in residence. This is a coming Conclave, with Clans from across the state, along with many traveling further, all coming to stay in the main and guest houses. It’s going to be different, which is why Alaric has to show his strength now.

Theobald is on the front steps when they pull up, seated as a wolf, Alia’s fingers tangled in his ruff. Chris gets out and walks around the car to open the door for Alaric first, then heads to the trunk to grab his bag.

Alaric gets out and waits, feet splayed as he growls softly.

Theobald stalks forward; Alaric stands his ground, meeting the wolf head on. When Theobald growls, low in his throat, Alaric snarls back, baring his teeth.

The trunk thunks closed, and Alaric sits back on his haunches, waits for Chris.

“Theobald,” Chris says, his hand falling to Alaric’s ear. He rests his hand there, looks past the snarling wolf to the steps of the house. “Alia. It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Alia responds calmly. She comes down the steps, moving past both wolf and hound both to grip Chris’s shoulders, leaning in to press her cheek to his in greeting. “You are welcome in our home for as long as you choose to stay. Be wary of our guests, however; they only know that you are here at Alaric’s sufferance.”

Alaric nudges his mother’s leg, and she glances down, smiles slightly. “Go upstairs,” she says.

Alaric pads away on four feet, checks once to make sure that Chris follows closely before he gives Theobald wide berth and heads into the house.

“I know the way to your room,” Chris reminds him, stopping when Alaric gets on the step ahead of him, bares his teeth.

It’s not wise for Chris to walk around on his own. Alaric takes the stairs slowly, cataloging sounds and smells as he goes.

Drea and Corbin are in her room; he doesn’t linger on that, not wanting to know more about his sister with his best friend than he already does. He spots a cousin along the hall, the mouse skittering out of the way and disappearing through a crack in the wall when Alaric growls low in his throat. No intruders, not here, in the family wing.

It’s safe.

Alaric comes back to himself at the top of the stairs, standing on two feet as Chris drops his bag, crowds into him. Chris palms the back of Alaric’s neck, braces him as he nudges a slow kiss. Chris grips his hip, tugs him close, and Alaric feels his hunger rising rapidly.

“My room,” Alaric growls. There’s a thump against a door, and Corbin calls out something that Alaric doesn’t listen to. It’s bad enough knowing that they’re here, that they can smell and hear everything in the house.

Alaric grabs Chris’s bags, throws them through the open door of his room. He checks for tiny intruders, finding none before he slams the door. He reaches for Chris, stops when Chris wraps tight fingers around his wrists, holds them.

Alaric’s eyes flutter closed, his attention narrowing down to the points of pressure around his wrists.

“I missed you,” Chris says quietly.

“Missed you, too,” Alaric mutters. He twists his arm; Chris holds on tighter. Desire fires in Alaric’s gut, hot and spreading outward rapidly. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Chris lets go of Alaric’s wrists long enough to grip the hem of his shirt again. “Yeah?” he asks, and Alaric nods.

“Anything,” Alaric agrees. “Everything.” He doesn’t say _you’re in charge_ , but leaves it implied. His skin itches, his body thrums with frustration and power. He needs to ground himself in whatever Chris will give him.

Chris strips Alaric quickly, tossing the shirt on the bed, then crouches to draw his jeans and underwear down. Alaric’s cock springs out, already hard, but Chris ignores it. As Chris stands, he helps Alaric turn around, places his hands against the door and nudges his head so he leans his forehead against the wood. “Don’t move,” Chris whispers.

Alaric keeps his hands exactly where Chris left him, the wood smooth and cold under his fingertips. He exhales, feels the warmth of his own breath echoed back at him. Movement behind him—the rustle of clothes, the movement of a drawer. The familiar click of the flip top of the lubricant.

Alaric closes his eyes. Waits. Anticipates.

“Hey.” Chris is a warm weight behind him. Cold sticky fluid squeezes at the top of Alaric’s crack, slides slickly down as Chris fits himself close, cock heavy where it rests in the wet, slippery crevasse. Hands move up Alaric’s sides, over his shoulders, sliding along his arms until Chris wraps his fingers around Alaric’s wrists. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. He moves, stroking along Alaric’s skin; Alaric can smell the wave of musk, and whimpers.

“I’ve got you,” Chris whispers again, mouth against the curve of Alaric’s shoulder. Chris holds on tight, moves Alaric’s wrists high over his head, presses him into the hard wood of the door. Alaric shivers, and Chris presses harder.

It’s good. Alaric could pull away, but he trusts Chris, and he can focus on that touch, on the way Chris keeps him still with hands and his entire body. The way Chris takes away his agency, his control. “Fuck,” Alaric whispers.

Chris bites down on the meat of Alaric’s shoulder. Alaric shudders in response, hips jerking, a thin stream of fluid dripping from the tip of his cock. “Like this?” Chris asks. “Or on the bed, with me inside of you?”

Alaric shudders, eyes closed. This. Bed. Fuck.

Chris gently twists his hands on Alaric’s wrists, reminding him that he’s waiting for an answer; Alaric whines. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Bed. Please.”

Alaric moves through a fog to get there. He lets Chris manhandle him, loves the way Chris isn’t shy as he lays Alaric out, wedges a pillow under his chest to keep his face from pressing into the bed. Then Chris is covering him again, hands pushing his wrists roughly into the bed as he rotates his hips, stroking through the slick mess of Alaric’s ass.

“Please,” Alaric whispers, and Chris lets go.

He whines, missing the touch. His wrists feel naked without it, as if there’s nothing holding him down. As if he could fly away on a thought, lift up with his next breath. Air shakes in his lungs, rasps roughly in and out.

A hand on his ass, breath across his skin. “I’ve got you,” Chris whispers again. He breaches Alaric with one slick fingertip, pressing inside. Alaric groans and shifts his hips back.

“Don’t need to be slow.” Alaric has told him this before, reminding Chris that he’ll heal, that he likes it a little rough. That he just wants to feel the stroke of Chris inside of him. Chris adds a second finger, the third finger slipping in when Alaric whines _please_. Chris twists, and Alaric pants in response, fisting his hands in the sheets, twisting them as his body bows. “ _Please_ ,” he begs again.

“Yes,” Chris murmurs. He withdraws, places one hand on Alaric’s hip and grips tight, digging the tips of his fingers in. He guides himself in, pressing his thick cock past the resistance, sliding in with burning stretch. Alaric’s cry is muffled by the sheets, his forehead pressed to the bed as Chris gives him what he needs. Both hands on his hips now, Chris drives in, one thrust to take him balls deep.

Chris drapes himself across Alaric’s back, the heavy weight holding him down, and Alaric can finally breathe again. Joined. Pinned. Adjusting slowly to the thickness that opens him wide, the small movements as Chris rotates his hips. Breath shudders as Alaric relaxes. He flexes his fingers, and Chris shifts his grip, wraps his fingers tight around Alaric’s wrists. “Good?” Chris asks, and Alaric nods once, lets his head fall back to the bed.

“Yeah.” Alaric sighs as Chris squeezes hard. “Yeah. Good. You feel so fucking good.”

Chris anchors Alaric there as he starts to move. Shallow motions at first, then deeper ones, moving carefully so that he doesn’t let up on his hold. Alaric grunts with each stroke, focus narrowing to the slide of Chris’s cock in his ass, and the fingers pressing into his skin at his wrists. The rest of him floats, threatening to drift off if it weren’t for Chris keeping him there.

Alaric closes his eyes, gives himself over to the sensation, the building tide within him. He exhales, and heat wafts back over his skin. Chris presses harder, and Alaric pushes the dragon back, refuses to let it come to the surface. Not now, not while he’s with Chris.

Chris will keep him safe.

Each stroke rocks Alaric forward, his own cock brushing against the mattress, just enough friction to leave him aching for more. “I’ve got you,” Chris whispers, and those words go straight to Alaric’s cock. His thighs are tight, legs shaking as he comes, groaning loudly. He shudders, clenching tightly, leaving Chris barely able to rock into him as Alaric’s body bows from the strength of his orgasm.

Chris groans more quietly, hands clutching at Alaric’s wrists as he orgasms. Musk fills the air, and Alaric howls, low and soft, at the way their scents mix.

Chris withdraws, falls down to the bed and roughly tugs Alaric close, wrapping his arms around him. He rubs at his wrists, gives him time to find his center again. Alaric nuzzles close, licks the salt and sweat from Chris’s skin, absorbs his taste.

Their hearts beat in a shuddering rhythm, around and near each other, but not quite in time. Alaric tunes in to listen to it, to the way they intertwine.

Something thumps in the distance, and Alaric snorts at the sound of his name being yelled.

“What?” Chris threads his fingers through Alaric’s hair. Alaric takes his hand, brings it down so he can kiss his dark skin. “Let me guess,” Chris murmurs. “You were loud. Someone overheard us.”

“Mm.” Alaric doesn’t actually care. He’s sated. Anchored. More at peace than he’s been since Winter break began, and he came home from PHU.

Chris brushes his thumb against the side of Alaric’s mouth. “We could try a gag sometime,” he suggests. “If you think you’d be into that.”

It would be one more way of Chris taking away Alaric’s agency. He makes a low noise, pushes Chris’s locs out of the way so he can burrow his nose against his throat to taste his skin. “Yeah,” Alaric whispers against his skin. “Probably, yeah.”

#

The sense of stability doesn’t last long. This is his first Conclave as his father’s official heir, and as various Clan arrive, Alaric feels the weight of their regard. He meets with Clan elders, shakes hands and pretends to humanity for those who prefer it.

When a lion pads in, mane grey with age and eyes slightly filmed, Alaric lets the bear come over him. He drops to all fours, pads forward and greets William, the elder of the Sunder Clan. A smaller lion follows close behind, her eyes bright and unblinking as she comes close, allows Alaric to inhale her scent.

William flows back to human, bent and wrinkled, leaning on his great-granddaughter as she rises beside him. Alaric takes the cue and returns to his human form as well, standing straight and strong.

“I hear you will succeed your father,” William says.

“A greeting would be nice, Grandfather,” Dayton reminds him.

Alaric remembers her, even though it’s been years. She was Orson’s age, and they were close, once upon a time. He wonders if that faded when Orson changed, or if Dayton still spoke to him before his death. She smiles slightly, adds, “My grandfather forgets his respect at times.”

“My son should respect your grandfather.” Theobald’s hand falls heavily on Alaric’s shoulder. “But my son struggles with remembering what it is to be Clan, William.”

“We greeted each other properly as lion and bear,” William says quietly. “He has the scent of others on him, but that is to be expected. He is in his time away.”

“I’m attending Pine Hills University, with Drea,” Alaric confirms. His back is stiff as Dayton leans in, her nostrils flaring. “And I have a guest.”

Dayton smirks. “A human guest.”

“Go.” William disengages from Dayton, takes Theobald’s arm. Alaric feels his father’s wince, suspects that William’s grip is harder than it needs to be. Another show of power, and a hint of tension slips away at the idea that his father is the one to come up lacking. “My granddaughter has been locked in a van with me for ten hours. She hungers for the company of someone her own age.”

“He lies.” Dayton leans in close to Alaric, slides an arm behind his back. “My grandfather is sharper than most men half his age. After all, he knew best when he chose me as heir.” Her mouth brushes against Alaric’s ear as she whispers, “Who is he?”

Alaric doesn’t have to ask who she means; he’s sure the scent still lingers on his skin. His gaze catches on where Drea and Corbin enter the room, Chris between them. He coughs, and Drea takes Chris’s arm, changes course to meet Alaric halfway.

He can smell the interest in Dayton’s scent when she steps forward, one hand out. “All dogs learn to shake for humans,” she says, and Corbin snorts.

“This is Chris Stone, starting quarterback at PHU.” Alaric introduces him, notes the way that after Chris shakes Dayton’s hand, he moves to stand by Alaric instead, one hand at the small of his back. It settles Alaric in the crowd as he leans back into the touch.

“We could escape to the baths,” Dayton says lightly. “Get your human out of this crowd of predators.”

“He’s not prey, he’s not my pet human, and we’re not leaving,” Alaric growls.

Her eyebrows arch. “You have teeth.”

“Not yet, but he could,” Corbin points out. “Keep poking. I’m sure they’ll come out.”

“I’m my father’s heir, but I’m definitely not him,” Alaric says quietly. “I think our future should include expanding our borders and our alliances with other Talents, not narrowing them.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Dayton murmurs.

“I don’t think Orson and I were as different as my father thinks.” It’s taken a long time for Alaric to come to terms with it, and it’s only in the last few days since Christmas passed that he’s been able to voice it. First in texts with Rory and Chris, and then to Drea and Corbin to see if they agreed. “I wish we’d had more time to talk about that.”

Alaric misses him still. Viciously, especially while at home. Dax’s visit to talk to Orson hadn’t helped with that, nor had it helped Theobald’s attitude toward Alaric’s friends.

Dayton’s head cocks, curious. “Interesting.”

“If you think Chris is interesting, you should see Ric’s roommate. He’s a rock star,” Corbin deadpans. When Dayton says nothing, Corbin adds, “And a Mage.”

Dayton’s attention shifts sharply back to Alaric. “Your father advocates for war,” she says quietly, a thin frisson of tension slides up Alaric’s spine. “Your father believes the Mages are bringing an apocalypse that threatens the Clan.”

Alaric exhales, a small puff of smoke whispering in the air between them.

_My father is an idiot_.

He can’t say that, not aloud where anyone in the room could be listening. “My father and I disagree,” he says instead.

Dayton’s mouth thins into a tiny smile. “I see. My grandfather and I have a stance as well.”

Alaric’s stomach goes sour. He rubs at one wrist, wrapping his fingers around it to hold on. “Oh?”

“One that I think will surprise and please you,” she replies. “Old does not necessarily mean set in the ancient traditions. Not always. You have allies, Alaric Herne. Orson was not alone, and neither are you.”

Another puff of smoke on an exhale. Alaric twists his fingers around his wrist, rubbing until it aches. He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Dayton says. “This Conclave has days to go.”

“I won’t be here for all of it,” Alaric admits. “I have plans at PHU for the new year.” He gestures at Chris, Corbin, and Drea. “We all have plans.”

“His rockstar roommate is doing a house show,” Drea says quietly.

“And if someone else wants to tag along?” Dayton whispers.

This is politics. It sounds friendly, a query about the younger Clan being social together. Developing relationships between families, between townships. It’s normal, and Alaric would have no reason to suspect anything except… Dayton’s an heir, just as he is. Just as any Clan of his generation in this room will be. Either an heir or training to be.

He can’t say yes. He presses his thumb against his skin, pushes down hard to tighten the wrap around his wrist. If he does, then he has no escape; his trip back to PHU would be political at best, and a nightmare at worst. He would bring the Clan back to where he is safe. He would bring them to Rory and Thorne and everyone else.

But he can’t say no, either, not and keep everything balanced. He has to give these fledgling relationships with other Clans a chance.

“We can talk about it later,” Alaric finally says, all too aware that he’s been silent too long.

Dayton leans in, slides her thumb across his eyebrow, ending at the corner of his eye. “We definitely will,” she murmurs. She presses her cheek to his, rubs lightly. “You have secrets, Alaric Herne, and I am most definitely curious. I will be your ally, but you will need to trust me eventually. Would you and yours care to meet in the baths later?”

“I’m in,” Chris says; Dayton huffs, amused.

“The family baths,” Drea says. “Tonight, come to the family wing and we’ll bring you down. Our father will be busy with the other elders. It can be just the five of us.”

“I look forward to it.” Dayton steps away from Alaric, turns to rub her cheek against Drea’s, then Corbin’s. She offers a hand to Chris again; when he takes it, he steps in to press his cheek to hers.

Alaric isn’t sure if that was the right move or not, but it makes Dayton smile.

As Chris comes back to Alaric’s side, his fingers brush against Alaric’s hand. It takes effort to stay where he is, not instinctively jerk his hand away in this crowded room. Chris moves slowly, replacing Alaric’s fingers with his own, wrapped tightly around Alaric’s wrist. He presses down, and Alaric exhales roughly.

Corbin comes up behind them, throwing an arm around both of them, setting his chin on Alaric’s shoulder. “Are you two going to start making out any second now?”

Alaric bares his teeth, growls and mock snaps at Corbin’s nose. “No.”

“So what do you think of her?” Drea asks, crowding in close on his other side, so she can speak quietly.

“I think if I were straight, I’d try to convince Theobald to go for an alliance,” Alaric mutters. “She’s snarky, she doesn’t take shit, and I think she’s on our side.” Chris tightens his grip; Corbin snickers.

“I think she’s probably our path to figuring out who else is on our side,” Drea murmurs. “In fact, I’m going to take Corbin around the room and talk to people. You two are going to disappear and get whatever is going on out of Alaric’s system.”

Alaric would protest, but Chris is already pulling him out of the room. Theobald won’t like it, not in the middle of an official Gather, but Alaric needs to settle.

Alia stands by the door and watches as they go. She nods when they pass, and something in Alaric’s chest eases to know he has her approval.

#

“Fuck.” Alaric exhales as Chris shoves him back against the wall in the side hallway. It’s dim, but not dark. If someone walks by, they might notice, but he has to hope that they’re alone. Chris barely gives him time to recover, grips Alaric’s wrists and lifts both over his head, pressing the backs of his hands into the wall.

Alaric closes his eyes.

Chris uses one hand to hold Alaric’s wrists, his other at his throat, thumb pressed under his chin to tilt his head back. Chris closes his teeth over the soft meat where neck meets shoulder, and Alaric whines his submission.

It’s better. Much better.

“You were smoking,” Chris whispers, nipping the words, biting them out of his skin. “Your eyes were silver. Your skin went cold.”

“Did it change color?” Every time it seems like he gets closer to changing, closer to losing control and letting the dragon slip free. “I should be the hound or the bear for this. Might be easier.”

“Or you should go upstairs and center yourself,” Chris suggests.

“You think we should fuck in the middle of the first Gather of the Conclave?”

Chris cups the nape of his neck, kisses him hard. “I was actually thinking you could spend a half hour in the bath,” he mutters, “or knitting. Something to get you out of your head. But if sex is what you need, I’ll give that to you.”

It’s tempting. So tempting to just lose himself in letting Chris take control. But Alaric already reeks of Chris’s scent, despite repeated washing, and this is just intensifying it. Making it obvious just how close they are. He needs to think about the political ramifications of sleeping with a human.

Alaric whines reluctantly, whispers, “No.”

Chris rests against him, a comforting weight and scent. “Do you want me to let you go?”

“Yes.” It’s the right answer where Clan is concerned, and absolutely the wrong answer for Alaric himself. More quietly, “No.”

Chris carefully brings Alaric’s hands down between them, keeps his hands wrapped around his wrists. Dark skin against tanned, heavy and solid. “Does this help?” Chris asks.

“Yes.” Alaric twitches, and Chris holds more tightly. Alaric exhales, focuses on the grip, better than when he rubbed at his own wrists. “It’s like you’re keeping me in place. In my skin. So the dragon can’t get out, so my head can’t get twisted into knots.” He keeps his voice low; anyone could be near enough to hear. He doesn’t smell anyone close by, but that doesn’t mean they’re private.

“Let’s take five minutes and go upstairs,” Chris says quietly. “Not to do anything. Just to talk. You get things out of your head, re-center, and then we can go back in. You know Drea’s covering for you.”

Drea and Corbin both are, and they’re all adept at knowing how to work around each other. Knowing how to make sure that two are enough when three are wanted or needed. But they’ve never done it with Alaric under this much scrutiny before. He closes his eyes, listens carefully and tries to sift through the cacophony of voices from the main hall. There are too many for it to be easy, but there’s nothing that sounds like his name, either.

“Five minutes,” he agrees, and lets Chris lead him to the main entryway, then up the stairs to the family wing.

“You know your way around my family house,” he says, as Chris nudges him through the door into his room.

“This wing,” Chris agrees. “I’ve never been anywhere but this wing, so if you ask me where your cousins or guests are, I’d get lost.”

“If Dayton knew you were staying in this wing—”

“I think she knows.” Chris finally lets go of his wrists, and Alaric feels light. Too light.

He sits on the edge of the bed, rubs at the skin as if he can make it feel like Chris’s grip again. It doesn’t work.

“I need them to see that I’m in control,” Alaric says quietly. “They all know who I am. I’ve never heard of any others like me, not who are Clan, anyway. There are people with only one form—specialized Lineages. But I’m the kind of person who gets talked about. And now I have to prove I’m worth the position Theobald’s put me in. It makes me—” He falters, not comfortable saying it aloud. “Not angry.”

“Anxious.”

Alaric blinks. “Yeah. Anxious.” He licks his lips, fights the urge to curl up on the bed, let the hound come over him and disappear into another form. He can’t, not now. “When I was talking, I thought about you,” he admits quietly. “When you—” He holds up his wrist, fingers wrapped around it, “That. It just makes everything fall away. Makes it feel like I’m grounded. Not going to fly away. Not going to lose control.” Alaric’s gaze drops. “’S’better when you do it, though.”

“How much more of this do we need to get you through?” Chris asks. He nudges, and Alaric goes back, stretching out on the bed with Chris.

Alaric buries his face in Chris’s throat, inhales his scent. “It’s the twenty-eighth, Conclave goes until the second,” Alaric mutters. “We’re not staying for all of it. Getting out of here on the thirtieth to go back to PHU.”

“Are you coming back after?”

It’s a simple question, and Alaric knows there’s a difference between what he should say and what he wants to say. “Probably need you to bring us back, yeah,” he says slowly. “Final votes’ll be made on the second before everyone leaves. Maybe on the first, but probably not until that last morning. Feast after, then everyone goes home. That’s assuming they actually decide anything. Hoping they don’t.”

“Do you think there’s going to be a war?” Chris asks.

Alaric shakes his head, thinks of Dayton and her grandfather. “Think we can keep it from happening,” he says. “And I think we’re taking a bath to get that started.”

“We need to go back downstairs before that, right?” Chris rolls off the bed, digs in his bag. He pulls out a shirt that Alaric recognizes as one that he sleeps in, then roughly tears it into strips. “Sit up,” he says, kneeling in front of Alaric.

Chris takes one hand at a time, carefully wrapping a strip of cotton around one of Alaric’s wrists. Tight enough to feel, not so tight that it binds. He tucks the end in to keep it steady, then grabs another strip.

Alaric lifts one hand while Chris works on the other, presses it close to his nose and inhales roughly. He can smell Chris on the fabric. Faint, mixed with the detergent he uses, but still there. He holds out his wrist as Chris finishes the second binding, and Chris smiles slightly. He takes Alaric’s hand, presses his mouth to his palm, then rubs his cheek along Alaric’s hand and wrist.

“Fuck,” Alaric whispers, and Chris takes his other hand. By the time Chris is done, Alaric smells him more strongly, can taste him on every inhale.

“Instead of my fingers,” Chris says quietly. “To keep you on the ground; you can’t fly while I’m holding you, and this is me, holding on,” he says, pressing the cloth closer to Alaric’s skin.

Alaric flexes his hands, rolls his wrist to feel the way the fabric moves with him, tight and close. He breathes in, exhales slowly. It’s a weight on his wrists, welcome and comforting. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. “I’m ready to go back downstairs now.”

#

Corbin meets them at the door, slides an arm around Alaric’s back to guide them across the room. “So, turns out Dayton has friends,” he says.

Alaric’s throat goes tight when he sees the knot of people that Corbin is leading him to. They are all of an age, under thirty at least, and one that looks younger than Alaric himself. The latter looks up as he approaches, her eyes bright and sharp. She tugs on Dayton’s sleeve, and Dayton disengages to meet them.

“Alaric.” She greets him with a rub of cheek to cheek, as if they hadn’t seen each other not long ago. A small huff of laughter by his ear, and when she pulls back, her gaze settles on Chris. “You two are definitely close.”

“And occasionally loud,” Corbin says quietly, but it’s loud enough for the others to hear. Drea thumps his shoulder, and Corbin grins, shrugging his apology.

Alaric could retort, but given that Corbin’s with his sister, he won’t. He’d rather just not think about it.

“Maybe it’s time to rearrange the rooms in the family wing,” Drea suggests, and Chris agrees with her, which makes everyone laugh.

Dayton tucks her arm in Chris’s, drawing him into the circle of strangers. Alaric trails close behind, paying attention more to what Dayton does and why she does it than the names of each person as they are introduced. Dayton leads Chris to each one, waits patiently while they offer a hand to clasp, then smiles slightly as Chris uses the hand to pull them forward and press his cheek.

Human greetings mixed with Clan.

Chris is good at this. At fitting in.

Dayton delivers Chris back to Alaric’s side, reaching out for Alaric’s hand and placing Chris’s on it. She makes the statement clearly: they are together, and she approves.

Alaric’s nostrils flare and he listens closely. Steady heartbeats, no censure from those closest to him. He hears murmurs from across the way, and the clear voice of his mother— _Theobald, no_ —but nothing from this group.

With a hand on Alaric’s shoulder, Dayton circles the group again by name. “Corbin and Drea, who I really hope you know,” she says. “Marina, from the Methos Clan in Maine. Aly and Devon, who have allied the New Hampshire Clans. No name chosen yet.”

“We’re waiting,” Aly says, her hand on her belly, and Alaric can hear the flutter of a tiny heartbeat.

There are seven more. Trey and Joseph, from Rhode Island and Massachusetts respectively, but also clearly together. Dillon, who came with his aging mother and younger sister, Merry, all the way from Minnesota. Frederic from Baltimore, and Quinn from Connecticut. Julia from Western Massachusetts, and Gianna from Long Island. All are the heirs from their respective Clans, except for Aly and Devon who already lead.

“Disease,” Aly says quietly. “We can’t call it a plague because the CDC doesn’t recognize the percentages since it only seemed to affect Talent as badly as it did. We lost ten percent of my Clan, and we were small to begin with. Devon lost over half of his people. And it wasn’t just Clan. There’s a town of Mages near our settlement and they all fell ill. They healed, but some of them lost their Talent.”

“You can’t lose Talent,” Corbin protests. “There are things that can make it hard—losing energy, being exhausted.”

Rory’s hands. Alaric remembers the bliss of having the beast fall briefly silent.

“It’s been a year,” Devon says. “Aly’s pregnancy is the first one we know for any Talented individual near us that’s made it past the first trimester. That’s why we’re waiting to name our new community.”

Chris squeezes Alaric’s hand, and for a moment he doesn’t understand why. Alaric frowns, trying to follow the path of what he’s missing, and as soon as he does, he can’t breathe. He forces it out, sees the puff of smoke, feels Chris’s reminding touch to the bands that lie wrapped under his sleeves.

Grounded.

His gaze touches on his father across the room, then returns to Devon. Everyone is silent.

“You didn’t only join your Clans,” Alaric says quietly. “You joined all Talented communities.”

Devon and Aly nod. “We needed strength, and support. We reached out, and they reached back. Together, we’re stronger.”

Dayton nudges Alaric. “We’re making new traditions,” she says. “New rules. The old ways won’t work in this world, and besides, why should we avoid someone just because they’re magic? Or human? We need to live in the world, not secede from it.”

“I agree,” Alaric says.

Dayton grins. “Good. I knew you’d be a good addition. We’d planned to bring in Orson—”

Alaric lets her cut off, doesn’t bother to fill in the blank that she leaves behind. This would be a good opening to let them know what else has been happening, but some of that is already public. Some of it will be made public, but in a way that lets Theobald skew the truth.

“Tomorrow,” Alaric says. “We should shift, go run.”

“I can carry your—Chris,” Frederic offers. “If he can ride. My most common forms tend toward horses.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse, but I’m willing to try if you’re willing to carry me.” Chris shrugs. “It’s post-season, but I’d still rather not fall and break anything.”

It’s easy after that. Chris’s statement is an opening to talk about football, and they go from there to sustainable agriculture and the use of magic to help build a new settlement in New Hampshire away from the root of the illness. It’s on the tip of Alaric’s tongue to bring out the dragon, but he keeps it at bay; the time isn’t right. Instead he can twist the conversation back to dyeing and natural elements which are colorfast when applied to fibers.

The entire time, the wrap on his wrists remains tight, reminding him that he’s safe. Anchored. And when Chris meets his gaze and smiles, Alaric breathes more easily.

#

“Let’s make this formal.”

“We’re naked. In a bath. Is this how Clan does politics?” Chris asks.

Dayton grins. “We don’t care much about naked or not. We’re furred, we’re scaly, we’re naked, we’re clothed. It’s all one and the same. Haven’t you figured that part out yet?”

“I’m getting there.” Chris presses his knee against Alaric, and Alaric presses back.

Chris is getting there fast, Alaric thinks. He does well within the strictures and traditions of Clan.

It’s only the five of them in the pool. Dayton left the others behind, and Alaric guesses that she speaks for their alliance. She sits next to Chris, on the other side from Alaric. Drea and Corbin are curled together nearby in the bath. Corbin whispers something, and Drea slips into her otter skin and swims away, batting water back at him. A moment later, Corbin is a bright mallard.

The bath seems smaller when they do that, but Alaric smiles at the familiar play.

“So,” Dayton says. “A formal alliance.”

“I’m not doing anything as formal as a joining of Clans,” Alaric says firmly. His gaze narrows when Dayton laughs out loud. “What?”

“I heard you earlier, and I have eyes and a nose,” she says dryly. “You’ll find your way to an heir someday; it doesn’t have to be blood. Or your blood anyway. You don’t need to have that formal of an alliance. I just mean, let’s talk about what we’ll do for each other. How my family can help yours, and vice versa.”

“I don’t want to go to war,” Alaric says flatly.

“Neither do I, but I do want to know more about why Theobald thinks we should,” Dayton counters. “Talk to me about this shadow.”

Under the surface of the water, Chris wraps his fingers around Alaric’s arm, holds on tight.

“What we say here, does not go beyond these walls,” Alaric says quietly. “We can talk about how much the others can know, but there are pieces that I’m not ready to share.”

“Such as?”

Alaric can’t do this in the bath. He’s not sure he can do it on demand at all, but he’s going to try. He nudges Chris’s hand away, hoists himself out to crouch at the side of the bath. “Give me a minute,” he mutters, and inches back, giving himself more space.

The room is large, with a platform several feet wide surrounding the bath itself. The high ceiling arches up, seven feet high at the edges, and twelve at the center. It’s going to be tight.

Alaric cradles his wrist to his chest, breathes in and centers himself. When he exhales, there’s a puff of smoke. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when the splashing in the pool stops, he opens them.

They are all staring at him. Dayton’s eyes are wide, but Chris is smiling slightly, leaning on the edge of the bath. Relaxed.

Alaric takes another step and shakes himself, curling the wings back in across his back as soon as they appear. The bath is suddenly far below him, the air chill and cloying. He exhales, and steam rises.

“Shit,” Corbin says.

Dayton stands, pulls herself out of the bath.

Alaric shakes his head, lets humanity return and meets her there. “Get back in, we can talk.”

“What was that?”

“Dragon.”

“What my brother’s trying to say is, he’s not broken,” Drea says. “I know what people say about him. About us. That we’re the Clan that’s going to fail, because something’s wrong. But nothing’s wrong with Alaric. He’s not a reptile, or a mammal, or a bird. He’s all of that, and a mythical creature as well. He’s the strongest shapeshifter I know.”

Dayton slides back into the water. “You captured the shadowwalker.”

Alaric smiles tightly. “Yes. Not Theobald. Myself, two Mages, and an Emergent Talent who can teleport. We captured it, we brought it here. It knew my mother, and it knew us. This is personal, somehow, but it’s not just personal. It killed more than Orson, and at least once, it wasn’t alone. The Mages aren’t bringing this on us. They want to help us, because they are in just as much danger as we are.”

“On the second, we vote against war,” Dayton says firmly. “We’ll back you. You’re with us, and we’re starting to work toward a new future. One where Clan and Mage work together. You’re in, right?”

It sounds like a good future, the kind of thing Alaric thought that only he wanted. He nods once, quickly, watches as she cocks her head to listen to his heart.

“We vote against war,” he says quietly. “And we see what we can do to help each other, whether we’re leaders yet or not. We bring all Clan together, and anyone else who can work with us. It’s time for Clan to change.”

Dayton moves through the water, clasps Alaric’s hands as they lean in close, cheek to check. She does the same with Corbin and Drea as his seconds. When Chris rises, she regards him for a moment before pressing her cheek to his. “You are part of this,” she says.

“Believe me, I figured that out already,” Chris agrees.

“I’m coming back with you to your school,” Dayton says as she settles back into her spot, leaving space between herself and Chris. “I want to meet your friends. Your Mages and Emergents.”

Alaric can’t put off the decision again, and this time, the politics have already dictated his response. “Of course,” he agrees. “We’ll return afterward in time for the vote.”

It’s easier after that. Quiet time, soaking in the bath, letting the tension slip away. Despite everything still hanging over them, Alaric finds that in this moment, at least, there is hope for the future.

#

“I’m declaring my major when I get back for the semester.” Alaric lies on his back, still naked, hands tucked under the pillow behind his head.

Chris pulls a blanket over them both. “Oh?”

“I want Pawel to be my advisor, not just because he knows about Talent.” Alaric’s still working through it in his head, but he knows that much for certain. “Majoring in Magical Studies, but focusing on Clan. On sustainability of our Talent, how we can make sure that our communities are built to withstand whatever changes are coming. How we can work with others. Going to minor in Art and Chemistry.”

“Art and Chemistry?” Chris lays a hand on Alaric’s chest, and Alaric lifts it to his face, presses his mouth against the palm and inhales.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Going to see if they’ll let me make something up. For fibers, right? Dyeing is all chemistry, but there’s better ways of doing things. And there’s an art to it. And construction, too, how to make things more stable again. Might be magic involved, don’t know if there’s Talent like that. Fiber witches? Have to go looking.”

“You’re planning to knit a new community.” Chris straddles Alaric, carefully extracts his hands and presses them against the bed.

Alaric exhales, lets the tension drift away. It’s easier to talk like this. Easier to believe what he thinks might work. “Yeah. Guess that’s what I’m doing. Think it’ll work?”

“We’ve been behind you all along,” Chris says quietly. “So yes, I think it’ll work. I’m glad you think it will.” He shifts his hips, and Alaric growls a little, raising his hips to meet him.

“What do you want tonight?” Chris asks.

Alaric’s learning that all the options are on the table. That the sex is good, no matter what they do. He’s learning how it helps him, how it keeps him pinned in place, whether Chris actually holds him down or not.

He leans up, waits for Chris to meet him so they can kiss. When Alaric nips, Chris kisses him hard, pressing him back against the bed. His cock is already fully hard from anticipation.

“Tell me,” Chris says.

“Hold my shoulders,” Alaric says, and Chris shifts his grip, curls his fingers over Alaric’s shoulders and presses his palms against them. Chris is heavy, the weight pressing Alaric into the mattress, but he can move his hands now.

Alaric wraps one hand around both their cocks and strokes. “Fuck. Dry,” he grumbles.

“Don’t move.” Chris releases him long enough to get the lube from his drawer, squeezes it out messily across their cocks. Then he takes his position again, hips sliding forward, leaning his weight against Alaric to hold him down.

It’s perfect.

Alaric slicks them both, then grips them tightly in one hand. He strokes hard and fast, Chris fucking into his hand at the same time. “Not going to last,” Alaric bites out, gripping harder.

Chris grins above him, leans down to kiss his collarbone, then to nip at his throat. “Don’t hold back,” he murmurs into his skin. “I’ve got you. Let yourself go.”

“Fuck.” Alaric thrusts up, loving the way Chris presses him back down, the slick slide of their cocks together. He groans until Chris swallows the sound with a kiss. Thighs tight, he digs his heels into the bed, thrusts one more time before he’s coming in a warm spill across his stomach.

Chris’s hips stutter, breath catches and he comes as well, their scents mixing, thick with musk.

It’s a fucking mess, and Alaric loves it. He relaxes slowly, reaches up to pull Chris close, kissing him again. He’s getting used to this, accustomed to the way Chris tastes, needing the familiarity in the way he makes him feel.

“We need to clean up,” Chris reminds him, and Alaric huffs, drags the blanket over them both.

“We will. Soon.” He wants to lie here together, able to smell their mixed scents. He wants to bask in this. “It’s getting easier.”

A small noise of assent. “You’re going to be a good leader, Alaric. Don’t doubt that.”

It’s not what Alaric meant. Yes, that’s getting easier. He has his first alliance, his first belief that there’s a future other than the one his father mapped out for him. But he also has this, and every day it gets easier to just accept this relationship. To realize that Chris is not just a part of his life, but an integral, important piece.

He’s not going to try to explain that, though. He doesn’t have the words.

He grunts softly, rolls so that he can lie half on top of Chris, nuzzle in against his throat. It’s getting easier to let go of the anxiety in moments like this, and to take what comes. To believe that he’s safe, and isn’t going to fly away.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and you should totally check out the source canon for this at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


End file.
